


What could have been

by OnlyBerry



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 11:25:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11207097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyBerry/pseuds/OnlyBerry
Summary: What if Corvo (Low Chaos) knew how different everything might have been?





	What could have been

There is a tangible smell of copper around him as he wades through the sewers leading away from the prison. Red speckles his tattered clothes and makes his blade shine wet. He can tell that he must be a mess, just by the look on the old sailors face.

 

A flash of purple-grey-blue and the eerie music of whale-song.

 

He's crouching along roof tops now, a weird, squishy package stowed away in a pocket of his coat. He sneaks into the distillery, along pipes and down into a room with a valve. He empties the whole package in it, after filling himself all the vials he can find and carry. The old lady in the grey clothes gives him a rune.

 

A flash of purple-grey-blue and the eerie music of whale-song.

 

Perched in the space above a door he waits patiently when the High Overseer and the Captain enter. Sees the confusion on the faces of both men as Campbell tastes the poison, as Curnow realises he will be made responsible. Time freezes and he chokes out the man, carrying him outside and leaving him in a trash bin.

 

A flash of purple-grey-blue and the eerie music of whale-song.

 

Emily, in a small room, hugging him. Leaving through the door that he knows the old, blind lady waits behind.

Morgan Pendleton, one of the twins, and his entertainment for the evening, trapped in the billowing and boiling steam. He spares a thought for the poor girl, then moves on to the top floor, where the other twin is with a girl. Time slows as glass shatters around him. The courtesan turns around as he lands on the surprised noble, his blade sinking into soft flesh and burgundy blossoms on the cream carpet. There are screams and guards rush through the door – only to be met with razor sharp wire and tempered-steel bolts.

When he leaves the Golden Cat, the carpets match the colour of the walls.

 

A flash of purple-grey-blue and the eerie music of whale-song.

 

He makes his way across the bridge. Whirlwind gusts blow city watchmen over rails and into rewired walls of light. Swarms of rats consume survivors and guards alike.

Up in Sokolovs room he finds a poor woman, one of the Royal Physicians test subjects. He lets her out of her cage, and when she turns around, a quiet _zhing_ followed by a low _thud_ ends her misery. The scientist dangles limply on his shoulder as he Blinks down to Samuel.

The old sailor wrinkles his nose in disgust as he smells the blood clinging to the assassin as tightly as a second skin.

 

A flash of purple-grey-blue and the eerie music of whale-song.

 

Back at the pub, Sokolov is contained in the old dog kennel. He does not want to talk. The rats swarming him make him spill every secret the Royal Protector needs to find the Lord Regent's mistress.

 

A flash of purple-grey-blue and the eerie music of whale-song.

 

At the party, he signs his name in the guest book. He learns that Waverly is wearing white this night, her sisters Esma in red and Lydia in black. He does not care.

Waverly is whisked away by her amorous gallant, off to the Outsider knows where.

Esma is intrigued and practically drags him into her bedroom, eager to further their conversation in a private manner. Dark sheets hide her life running out of her as he gently closes the door behind him.

Lydia is the last to go. She guides him to the music room. As the guests clear out and she turns her back on him for a moment, steel kisses her heart and she falls down, a discord on the piano. He is gone, a shadow against the walls of the alley, when the watchmen find her.

 

A flash of purple-grey-blue and the eerie music of whale-song.

 

The Lord Regent has sealed himself in his panic room, high atop Dunwall Tower. Samuel leaves him down at the water gate, his mouth clenched in disgust. His way across the courtyard is deadly but bloodless. Each strike, each bolt brings an enemy down, leaving nothing but flakes of ash, fluttering on cold gales. And all they see coming is the mechanical mask of death incarnate, blinking in and out of existence around them.

Through the palace and up to the roof, whoever is in his way falls to the bite of his blade. As he enters the room through a side window, leaping over book cases and onto the shoulders of a tallboy, he sees the Lord Regent, the man who destroyed his life, behind a final wall of light. A few more risky jumps, another disconnected tank of whale oil and the only thing between him and revenge is a terrified watch officer. Then nobody.

He feels the rage and the rush sing in his veins as he bests his foe, snapping his neck and sending him lifeless to the floor. Then he is off again, back to Samuel, to the pub. He hugs Emily. Finally she is safe, the conspirators slain, the past behind him. There is celebration and drinks.

Too late he notices what should have been easy to glean from audiographs and book entries. There's poison, masked by the strong alcohol. As his body fails him, he hopes his little girl is safe.

 

A flash of purple-grey-blue and the eerie music of whale-song.

 

The Whalers guarding the hole he is imprisoned in fall under his blade. Weepers crowded in the streets and the refinery where they tossed his equipment fall, consumed by fire and rats. Back on the rooftops he makes his way through the Railway Station, Whalers fading in his way.

He reaches Daud, just as the man hears of his escape. Quietly he sneaks onto the bookcase overlooking the room. He ponders his possibilities for a while. What the heart whispers to him finally makes him move: _“Why have you brought me here? Am I meant to forgive this man for what he did?”_

Time slows, freezing the other Whaler in the room. As Daud spins around, his heart meets the same fate as the heart of the woman he killed over six months ago. There's something in his eyes the former Royal Protector cannot grasp a name for.

Through the tunnel and out through the sewers, weepers and rats everywhere.

Finally he finds himself back in the abandoned apartment near the pub.

 

A flash of purple-grey-blue and the eerie music of whale-song.

 

Piero's and Sokolov's new arc pylon incinerates all enemies. The smell of ash and burnt flesh drifts away as Samuel arrives, one last time.

 

A flash of purple-grey-blue and the eerie music of whale-song.

 

Samuel makes it clear he does not want to see Corvo again. As he leaves, he alerts the guards. It only increases the body count. Nothing can deter him on his way up the lighthouse, neither gales nor rain-slick on the metal; neither bullet nor sword nor any of the security measurements.

Then he reaches the top, sees Havelock standing near the edge of the structure, his little girl afraid and trying to escape the clutches of this mad man.

And his luck runs out. A particularly strong gust of sea-salt wet wind makes him slip, alerts the Admiral to his presence. “Stay where you are Corvo or I jump!”

He gathers strength, tries to will time to stop – and fails. Ice cold terror pooling in his entire body he stumbles to his feet, a last effort to sprint over to the edge quick enough to prevent the catastrophe.

And he slips again on the rain-slick metal, reaching the edge too late. He sees his daughter fall, scream swallowed by the eerie howl of the wind. He sags, clothes drenching in the onslaught of rain. There is a hollow feeling rising in his chest. He failed his empress, failed his daughter twice over. What has he left to fight for? To live for?

 

A flash of purple-grey-blue and the eerie music of whale-song.

 

“Corvo? Are you alright? You were making funny faces while you were sleeping.”

Emily's voice is like soothing balm for his soul. His eyes fly open, and without a second thought he hugs the young empress in front of him. She is older now, the events following her mother's death years behind them both. He keeps her in his arms long enough to convince himself that she is real, that this is real.

 

In the following night he sleeps sound and safe, content with his fate. He wakes in a grey-blue world of crumbling, floating islands, the familiar whale-song in the distance.

From somewhere far off he hears a familiar voice, eerie and soft.

 

 

“You wondered what might have been, my dear Corvo. Now that you have caught a glimpse of a path filled with rage and blood, death and destruction, are you glad that you always chose to spare your enemies' lives?”

The Outsider assumes corporeal form in front of him, inky black gathering into a human shape. “Take this vision as... a _gift_ if you will. None have entertained me in these last years as you have. You fascinate me, Royal Protector. Had you killed them all out of revenge, you would indeed have become predictable, boring. But choosing such elegant, such sophisticated methods of removing the ones opposing Empress Emily's ascension...”

The avatar of the Void drifts a bit closer, oil-black eyes unblinking. “Your future will surely hold another trial you and your Empress will have to overcome; will you keep your compassion? And will your blade keep sleeping at your side?"

He drifts back, arms crossed in front of him. "What will you do, I wonder? Either way, I expect a good show. Farewell, Corvo."

With that he is awake in his chambers again, morning sun grazing the horizon. Whatever the future may hold, right now, in this peaceful moment with the palace waking around him, he is at peace. Because this is his home, whole again.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So...not sure what to say except "Phew! Finally did it!"  
> As this is the first work of fan-fiction I ever created (and I hope it does not show too much *fingers crossed*), any advise is greatly appreciated.  
> If someone stumbles upon anything resembling grammatical errors, spelling mistakes or odd phrasings...feel free to tell me, as writing in a non-native language always poses a challenge ;)
> 
> And last but not least: a heart-felt "Thank you" to anyone who read this. All the works I have read here (and that are too many to name) inspired me to finally contribute to the colourful world that fandoms are. So again, "Thank you", everyone.


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